Porcelain
by MamaKusanagi
Summary: Everyone thought that Fushimi Saruhiko was incapable of things like 'fear' and 'emotions'. But when they're chasing a strain that takes the form of its victim's worst fear, they find out that his fear is something that looks harmless but terrifies him for reasons they could never imagine. And so, of course, Scepter 4 and Munakata want to know exactly why he fears a porcelain doll.
1. Fear

When he was younger, his mother had a doll.

Not anything like a doll to play with. This doll was one for show, for receiving looks from people with too much money and too much time. Businessmen and women, philanthropists, even the lucky millionaires that did nothing, would look at the doll that was proudly displayed in the case in the main room of the Fushimi mansion and would comment on its beauty. It would stare back with lifeless black eyes, clothed in a frilly pale silver dress that accentuated it's pale skin and dark hair. Truly, it was beautiful. In a haunting way.

Fushimi would often stare at it and it would stare right back, both of their eyes holding the same emotion.

His mother, Kisa, loved the dolls. He thought- no, he knew- that her dolls were more precious to her than he was. She would buy them and primp them, keeping them at top condition. A maid once scratched the eyeball of one of the dolls- unnoticeable to most, but not his mother. No, she instantly knew. She demanded in a cold voice for the maid to explain, and she did.

The next day, Fushimi noticed her absence and nothing was said about it.

Kisa would often make harmless comments to guests. Things like 'There's a certain beauty to things that look amazing and don't have the ability to speak' and 'The most beautiful things in life are silent'.

His mother thought him beautiful.

She told him that over and over again, and he was used to not talking. Because he was beautiful. Because his mother paid attention to him when he was still and didn't talk, contrary to what he knew was normal. He went to school, saw kids interacting with one another. He saw how they got the teacher's attention. Even when they were trying to act like that's not what they were doing. He, however, did the opposite of those stupid kids. He did not speak, did not move. It was often that he got left behind because of that while the class did a group activity outside or in the art room. The teachers lost him multiple times, only to return and find him in the same spot he had been when they'd left.

The principal called a parent meeting for it. To apologize for the mistakes his faculty had made and to ensure it wouldn't happen again. He acted like Fushimi had told his parents. He hadn't, he was silent as always.

His father, Niki, laughed, like it was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard in his entire life. His mother cooed at him, calling him a doll and what a good boy he was.

He just looked at her with emotionless eyes, like he'd learned to do.

She had other dolls, but the one he frequently stared at on the top shelf all by itself caught Fushimi's eyes. It looked almost like him- if he were a girl and dead. So he often stared at it, as if to try to understand where it had came from and why his mother loved it more than him.

By the time he was ten, he didn't care.

By the time he was fifteen, he had escaped and now shivered at the memories.

By the time he was in Homra, he was squirming in the bed he shared with Yata and crying out in a choked voice in his sleep in unrecognizable words. Doll. Glass. Eyes. Black. Break.

Break.

 **Break**.

Yata had only heard him whimpering the words once. Yata was so concerned, wondering if the horror film about dolls had gotten to him. It had. But not in the way he thought. He'd been careful after that.

So Fushimi just clicked his tongue and feigned indifference, telling him to shut up and that the movie was too stupid to be scary.

He spent his Homra days in mostly a jealous daze. He didn't know it was jealousy. Everyone else seemed to, but he didn't. He was frustrated by the emotion.

So, of course, he did the only thing he knew to do.

The next day, Fushimi 'betrayed' Homra and joined Scepter 4.

The day after that, he realized he couldn't escape the emotion he was feeling and gave up.

So he just glanced around and barely tried to do any of his work, only putting in a little effort when Munakata's faithful dog Awashima started snapping at his heels. He kept silent, other than an irritated click of his tongue, and barely said a word to anyone. He heard the whispered rumors about him- 'The Red King cut out his tongue when he said one rude word to him' 'Idiot, then why does he click it at us all the time and look annoyed?'- but he couldn't muster up enough emotion to care. He only had two real emotions.

Irritation and Yata Misaki.

His Misaki counted as its own emotion, because he couldn't describe the swirl of _feeling_ when he was around him. Possessiveness, jealousy, longing, sadness, fear, betrayal, anger, anger, an **ger** -

So yes. Yata was an emotion. And he was the only emotion that Fushimi really let himself express.

Other than that, he was a doll.

The perfect doll his mother had groomed and smiled at and praised and loved-

Not perfect, not perfect, a scar here, a burn there-

Perfect.

Fushimi didn't think he was perfect. But he knew his mother thought that. He didn't let it go to his head. No, he was only confused by the notion. And he was angry that he was confused. It was complex and confusing, even for his so-called 'genius' brain to figure out. He found such things stupid and not worth his time, so he didn't try to figure out the emotion for what it was and left it alone in the looming darkness of his mind made up of black wisps and Cheshire grins and Rubix cubes and emotionless eyes.

"Fushimi-kun."

Fushimi didn't snap out of his musings, if he could even call them that, like any normal person would expect him to. He didn't even flinch. He just looked over at his captain with annoyance, his head lolling as if he couldn't even bother to muster up the energy to hold it up.

"Do try to stay focused, we're searching for a dangerous strain and I would hate to see you injured."

Of course. What good is a damaged doll?

He just clicked his tongue again and turned away, looking around the area they were in. Nothing special. Just alleys and walls and streets. It was boring and wet and dirty from the recent rain. The air was thick and smelled fresh. He hated it. Then again, he hated a lot of things so he supposed this wasn't very high on the list, so he could tolerate it. Didn't mean he couldn't complain in his own head about it, though. It's not like Munakata could read his thoughts.

"Don't worry, we will be out of this muggy weather in no time."

Fushimi didn't look in him, but he had to wonder how Munakata knew what he was feeling. It wasn't something he was used to. His face was expressionless, his eyes hidden and cold. He shouldn't know exactly what he was _feeling_. Which was weird, because Fushimi knew that his annoyed and pointless thoughts could really count as feelings. Could they?

Whatever.

Fushimi looked at Munakata blankly. The king smiled. "It is a strain that changes its appearance to match that of its victim's worst fear." Fushimi's expression didn't change, but Munakata seemed to sense his apprehension. He felt a little better that this arrogant asshole could read him better than his Misaki. In fact, he was the only one that could do it and get it right. "Do not fear, however, I am sure that the others are more than capable of apprehending the strain." A snort. "Do you doubt your teammates?" A blank stare. "Of course they are your teammates, Fushimi-kun."

Awashima stayed as silent as Fushimi, but she was far more uncomfortable than he was. She didn't know how her captain could hold one sided conversations with the infuriating and silent third in command that he had acted was his favorite. She just hoped that he really could tell what the emotionless and annoyed boy was 'saying', otherwise he was just making an ass of himself.

A scream came from by them. Fushimi and Munakata didn't seem to react, but Awashima's hand twitched visibly towards her sword. The members of Scepter 4 convened around them, Domyouji stumbling along with a frightened look on his face and Kamo running behind him and glancing over his shoulder.

Fushimi looked at Munakata with an emotionless look.

"Ah, I know, Fushimi-kun. 'I told you so', correct?"

"Captain!" Kamo exclaimed, placing his hand that was clutching his sword over his heart. "The strain is headed this way, after multiple attempts to subdue."

Munakata nodded to him and turned in the direction, seeing a large spider crawl around the corner. He was stuck between being amused by Domyouji's frightened squeak- sounding strained, like he was trying to hold it back- and from the slight twitch of Fushimi's eyebrow. He decided to focus on the strain, whose multiple eyes were scanning everyone there. It lingered on him before moving to Fushimi and its fangs twitched in what looked like a horrible grin.

Fushimi tensed slightly, which was abnormal. Normally he was as cold and unphased as a statue. They were curious, though. Was this strain going to show them what the emotionless Fushimi Saruhiko feared?

It started shifting before Fushimi could reach for his sword and his skin turned ten shades paler in less than a second.

It settled its form on a pale porcelain doll with a Cheshire grin and dark hair and emotionless eyes and frills and Fushimi **_screamed_**.


	2. Hiding

Fushimi _detested_ hiding.

He'd never hidden from his problems, or anything, really. He never played 'hide and seek' or 'kick the can' when he was smaller, never saw the point in it. Yata had tried to get him to, but he only said in a bland voice that no one would bother to look for him. Yata said fiercely that he would, but didn't push it after that.

Fushimi thought that it was how he was raised. His mother and father never looked for him actively, only barely acknowledging when he was in the room sometimes. Or not. It wasn't really any of his business if his parents paid attention to him, though he wished desperately that they would. When he was younger, of course. He didn't care for that once he became a teenager. When he was a child, however, he instinctively craved a physical, emotional, and mental connection with his parents. He had tried, for a while, then he saw how to connect with his mother and went with it. Became the doll that she so loved. There was no way to connect with his father, so he gave up eventually. His father found ways, though- ways he didn't like. Cheshire grins, Rubix cubes, impermanence impermanence im **PER** -

He didn't feel close with them, though. Not like he saw other kids- holding hands with their parents after school, not having to walk home by themselves. Occasionally, he was picked up by a maid or one of their servants if they remembered him. It seemed to embarrass them, when he startled them with his quiet presence as if he'd been forgotten by them.

"You gave us quiet the scare, Fushimi-san! We'd forgotten you were home.."

Nervous laughter.

No permanence.

He _hated_ hiding. Hated it with a passion. Especially if it was for a game. Especially if it wasn't. Hiding? No one would look for him. No one cared enough to. What was the point? Anything he faced, it was with a blank expression. The shadows in his room at night, the dolls, the punks at school, Suoh Mikoto, Homra, strains-

Well. Most strains.

He could face them with detached emotions. He'd overheard his superiors talking about it once, when he stood as still as a doll in the shadows of the halls at Headquarters one night, the door to Munakata's office cracked.

Munakata thought it an admirable trait.

Awashima thought it was creepy and unsettling.

Even the 'Heartless Woman' smiled sometimes. Fushimi couldn't muster up enough emotion to, he had only smiled for Yata Misaki and he was g **ONE** -

So he had run, he didn't know how to deal with it otherwise.

Was that considered hiding? Had he hidden from Yata?

He was hiding now.

He hated hiding, but his instincts he'd long since repressed kicked in and he was _scared_. Memories he'd stowed away in the dark corner of his mind- blank faces, Cheshire grins- all came flooding out and he felt like sobbing. He hadn't cried in a _long_ time, but he felt like doing it now. He had dropped his sword, backing away and Munakata had seemed to instinctively put himself between Fushimi and the strain. Fushimi had grabbed the back of his coat before the king could attack and capture the strain, and he buried his face into the blue uniform. His shoulders were hunched close, hiding his neck and face, and his glasses were getting smudged but he didn't care.

"Make it go away."

Fushimi's voice was a quiet, reserved whisper. His voice was harsh from the fearful scream he'd let out, and from not using it for so long. Munakata seemed to be the only one that had heard his broken plea. The strain had started laughing, sounding unfamiliar to them but by the way Fushimi stiffened, he must have recognized the voice.

" _Please_."

"Awashima-kun.."

"Yes!"

Fushimi heard her giving orders, then the sound of swords being drawn. He felt the jacket shift under him, the occupant moving, and he panicked. Impermanence, impermanence, impermanence, imperma-

"Fushimi-kun?"

Oh. He was just turning around. A rush of embarrassment hit Fushimi, which was odd. He was never embarrassed. He was always.. blank. But he was humiliated- he had showed emotion in front of these people, in front of the infuriating _captain_ of all damn people. It must have been raining, because his cheeks felt wet. Munakata, in a stroke of uncharacteristic affection and fondness, wiped the wetness away, only for it to be replaced by more.

 _'Idiot,'_ he thought tiredly, not angrily. _'It's not permanent or anything. Leave it be. I'll destroy it myself.'_

"Fushimi-kun, are you alright?" At the concern in his actions, his voice and eyes, Fushimi shut himself off again and regained control of his rare, stupid emotions.

 _'Of course I am.'_

His face turned blank, his body relaxing in an odd sense of calmness considering he'd been crying and terrified seconds before. He looked at Munakata, his face revealing nothing- or, at least, he thought it did. The king had the uncanny ability to read him like an open book and put up with him like a rouge, straying puzzle piece, guiding it to where he saw it fit to be.

Munakata stood straight, no longer bent to look Fushimi in the eye once he saw him get better. A little rattled-looking, but more normal than before. He grabbed Fushimi's glasses, ignoring the sight of his subordinate twitching and his blank expression cracking for a split second. He rubbed the lenses with the edges of his coat, placing them back on Fushimi's pale- paler than usual, so pale- face once they were clean enough.

"Captain, the strain has been dealt with." Munakata looked to Awashima and smiled. Fushimi didn't look.

 _'Looks like he's detached himself yet again,'_ the king thought to himself. "Escort it to Headquarters immediately. I would very much like to assess its abilities."

"Sir!"

Once the strain was in one of their transport vehicles, he led the main team into the car. He had his hand on Fushimi to guide him, though halfway there, the teen jerked out of his grasp like he'd been burned. So he had come to his senses.

He made Fushimi sit next to him, gaining no protest. He engaged him in a one-sided conversation, if only to drown out the mutterings of their subordinates. They were all looking at Fushimi, who did nothing to acknowledge them or Munakata. The king knew he was aware, though, by the minuscule tightening of his jaw and the sharpness of his eyes. Everyone else saw a man- a boy, more so- trying to hide his emotions and act how he was expected to.

Like a doll.

The puzzle pieces were slowly fitting together, only to Munakata. The others looked confused and concerned, still trying to figure out what had made Fushimi react in such a way. Domyouji- poor, impulsive Domyouji- was the first to break the silence of the subordinates.

"So.. Dolls?"

The others winced when they saw Fushimi tense. Munakata looked at him curiously, wondering how he would react.

"So, spiders?" The words were quiet, but filled with malice. A warning.

Domyouji actually whimpered, all of them shocked. Fushimi actually spoke? To them?

Something had definitely rattled him and he hadn't quite gotten his defenses back up.

Fushimi seemed to notice, because his body slumped in his weird form of relaxed-but-aware state, like a hunched over doll that hadn't been properly propped up, and his eyes bore emotionlessly into the cold floor of the moving vehicle. It was unnerving, as usual, but at least it was normal for them. His annoyance was passive, cold but not furious like his glare had been. They could deal with this. It was better. It was better.

Why did it seem different?

It was probably because of what had happened. They considered the notion that they were overreacting- mostly because Fuse mentioned it- but they seemed to come to the mental agreement that Fushimi being that shaken up had shaken _them_ up. Their usually blank, fearless superior had broken down all because of a porcelain doll. Which had been creepy, of course. That Cheshire grin didn't belong anywhere. But it had been mostly normal, so there was probably something in Fushimi's past that had prompted the freak out. Fushimi's past was a mystery, even to the captain. In that line of thought, what had happened to him to make him so emotionless and silent and just so _blank_?

Munakata stopped watching their silent musings and their half-thought-out theories quietly whispered to one another when he felt the overwhelming urge to look at Fushimi. When he did, he found that the teen's tired blue eyes were staring at him. He chuckled quietly, patting his lap and silently, mockingly asking if Fushimi wanted to rest his head on his lap. Given traffic, they wouldn't be back to Headquarters until twenty minutes. Fushimi looked like he would fade away in that amount of time.

To his eternal shock, concealed by a blink and a raised eyebrow, Fushimi shifted his position on the bench slowly. He laid down on his side, facing the other occupants of the vehicle, and rested his head on the king's lap. He then curled his body up and closed his eyes, a silent sigh leaving his lips that Munakata felt more than heard.

"Fushi-?"

Munakata didn't know who started to speak, but he pressed his index finger to his lips and grinned. He didn't want to disturb the most likely exhausted teen. He rested his hand on his black hair, and ran his fingers through the locks despite how Fushimi tensed at the touch. He eventually relaxed, and his breathing evened out after a moment.

They all collectively realized that they'd never seen him sleep, or look so peaceful.

Even in sleep, he looked devoid of emotion. He looked like he was _concentrating_ , and wasn't that weird? He didn't look truly at rest, but at the same time, did. In a 'Fushimi' way. They figured it was the most he relaxed. His shoulders were tensed, and they suspected more than just the uncomfortable position. His face was smooth and relaxed, but there was an undeniable crinkle of concentration in his forehead and around his eyes. They were almost tricked into thinking he was still awake, but Munakata still had his hand. If Fushimi had been awake to feel Munakata running his fingers through his hair and messing up its usual spiked appearance, there would have been a knife fight and missing fingers. At least, they thought as much.

It was nice, though. To see him relax in his own way. They were almost a little sad- more like pitying for him- when they arrived back at Headquarters.

Then Munakata, without even disturbing him, picked Fushimi up like he was a newly wed bride and carried him gracefully to the building that held their bunks.


End file.
